


Eighth Year in the Eighteen Hundreds

by wizardsandthrones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, M/M, Regency Romance, Slow Burn, Wandlore (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardsandthrones/pseuds/wizardsandthrones
Summary: Eighth Year meets Jane Austen’s Regency Era, where Harry’s uncontrollable magic threatens to outcast him from society forever, where the castle needs to heal as much as her students, and where Mr Malfoy’s refusal to use magic intrigues Harry more than he will admit. Join Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, and Miss Granger in another year at Hogwarts, full of ornate balls, tumultuous courtship, and, of course, magic.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Ernie Macmillan, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Mandy Brocklehurst/Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner/Lisa Turpin, Millicent Bulstrode/Gregory Goyle, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Parvati Patil/Blaise Zabini, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Susan Bones/Wayne Hopkins, Terry Boot/Padma Patil, Tracey Davis/Theodore Nott
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. An Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> A brief disclaimer: I am not an expert on the vocabulary of Regency era novels, but I will try my best. If they use a phrase or word that would not have been used in the 1800s, or break a minor rule of decorum, I sincerely apologize. 
> 
> A less brief clarification: Following Jane Austen, there will be no period after Mr or Mrs or Miss, and everyone will address each other formally unless in private and either related or engaged to be married. In narration, I will only refer to Harry informally, and will drop the Mr before familiar names of younger wizards except when there may be confusion. The nature of courtship will follow Jane Austen more so than Bridgerton, if you understand my meaning (love-making will be done through glances and blushes, as it always has). Lastly, though the customs of the Wizarding world in this Regency AU will be formal, same sex love was never disapproved of, indeed thanks to magic, there was never any distinction made between different expressions of love whatsoever. 
> 
> Hope you will enjoy my current favorite past time that I started on a whim, and will not judge me too harshly, for as you know, I am not receiving a farthing for my work and I write only for my own pleasure and if I am lucky, for yours as well.

The Wizarding world, much to Harry’s surprise and most other Muggleborns, is quite formal. As Miss Granger likes to joke, the magical population had no need for technology, so it halted progress in the eighteen hundreds and has hardly budged since. 

Raised in the Muggle world, Harry had to learn all kinds of antiquated manners and customs, from the way he spoke to the way he dressed. Luckily, Hogwarts holds an elective class that meets twice a month for First Year Muggleborn students. They learned how to dance, to use silverware properly, to address professors, and most importantly―though they all thought it mightily silly at the time―courtship. While Harry and Miss Granger found courtship hilarious, they both privately acknowledged how intimidating it is to think that they could offend someone simply by using their first name. 

Miss Granger soon caught on to all the rules, being a quick study, while Harry stumbled awkwardly through conversation and made many blush at his words and actions. Professor Snape tortured him endlessly about etiquette, but to no avail. Harry would always blunder through propriety. 

Interestingly, his complete lack of proper manners perhaps did help when it came to You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord disdained Muggles and anything relating to them, so he was caught off guard several times when Harry blatantly ignored all decorum. But by the time Harry really needed to defeat him, he had grown more-or-less accustomed to the rigid, old-fashioned culture of witches and wizards. 

After the war, Harry ceased to speak with his aunt and uncle, and only occasionally communicated with Dudley, so he rarely needed to remember his Muggle habits. It was quite disappointing, and worrisome, then, to discover that his magic did not work properly anymore. Suddenly the simplest spells became impossible to execute without some disaster. One day he nearly drowned the entire Weasley family after he casted an Aguamenti spell in the kitchen to make himself oatmeal. He blamed the war, and the grief, at first. But as the months went by and the summer came to an end, Harry quickly realized that something was very wrong. 

Miss Granger and Mr Ron Weasley are worried, but they pretend not to be for his sake. 

“Do not trouble yourself,” Weasley says flippantly, though he does not meet Harry's eyes. “It is very common for a witch or wizard’s magic to cease working properly for a period of time. A second cousin of mine a few years ago experienced trouble with her magic. She could hardly cast even the simplest spells without either injuring herself or others.”

“May I enquire how she recovered her magic?” Harry asks, raising a brow.

“Well,” Weasley says, hesitantly, “she died before she had the chance to recover it. Though I am sure if she had lived, her magic would have been restored eventually.”

“Hermione,” Harry pleads. He sees Weasley blush faintly out of the corner of his eye, probably because of his use of Miss Granger’s first name. Despite their familiarity, wizards and witches avoid informally addressing those that are of age and unmarried. 

“I am not worried in the least,” Miss Granger says matter-of-factly, but Harry wonders who she is trying to convince. “To begin with, your magic is not lost, only temporarily...out of tune, let us say. Secondly, although you deny it every time I suggest it, your wand could just as well be the problem as your magic.”

“My wand is perfectly fine,” Harry replies automatically. “I have used this wand since I was eleven. It is  _ my  _ wand.”

Miss Granger sighs, but says nothing more. They have had and will have this argument many times again. 

The problem of his “out of tune,” uncontrollable magic only becomes exacerbated when four very familiar letters, enveloped and stamped with Hogwarts’ bright red seal, arrive at the Weasley’s modest country estate in late July. 

Mrs Weasley hurriedly opens the letters, muttering, “And what do they suppose, sending four letters with only one of my children still in attendance?”

“Perhaps they are to do with the special circumstances,” Mr Weasley suggests, eyeing her significantly. 

Mrs Weasley straightens up, looking at her husband shrewdly. “My dear, you don’t mean to tell me that you  _ have known  _ about these letters and have not deigned to mention it to me? After all, am I not in charge of these children’s happiness?”

“If by happiness, you mean acquiring a suitable marriage for each, then yes. Otherwise, I am afraid that  _ I  _ am in charge. While I had a hand in procuring those very invitations, I was sworn to secrecy,” Mr Weasley says, smiling.

“I am sure that by secrecy, they did not mean from your own wife, but from the children!”

“Oh I am sure you are quite right,” Mr Weasley says, his eyes twinkling. “I thought perhaps I would surprise you as well.”

“Surprise me, oh dear! Invitations to my very own children, no less!” But Mrs Weasley is hiding a smile now.

“Come, mama, open the letters!” Miss Weasley cries. 

“Oh all right.” She opens the seals. “This one is for you, Ron. ‘Dear Mr Ron B. Weasley, we are pleased to extend an invitation for your Eighth Year at Hogwarts. Please find enclosed a list of available courses for Eighth Years and their necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September first. We await your owl by no later than July thirty-first. Please reply with your chosen courses.’ Goodness me, it is already the twenty-third! What do they mean by this!”

“Please, dear, that is plenty of time,” Mr Weasley says, pained. “I expect they will explain―”

“Explain?  _ They  _ explain? No, sir,  _ you  _ will explain this instant!”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Miss Granger says quietly, looking out the window. They all turn to the window and see the largest owl they have ever seen swooping down from the sky and onto their windowsill. 

“Why is the Minister’s owl delivering here?” Weasley asks, worried. 

Mrs Weasley has become so anxious that she does not say a word, only retrieving the letter and offering a small treat to the owl, who takes it gracefully but remains on the windowsill, looming over them.

“I suspect we must make a quick reply,” Mrs Weasley says. She breaks the seal with shaking hands. “‘Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley, as the rightful guardians of Mr Ron B. Weasley, as well as the temporary guardians of Mr Harry J. Potter and Miss Hermione J. Granger, I send this letter to provide some important information.’ From the Minister himself, just think! Oh, my poor nerves!”

“Keep reading, mama,” Weasley says gently. 

“‘The Ministry, along with Headmistress McGonagall, have decided to open Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this school year. After many weeks of deliberation, we have come to the conclusion that students who had occasion to miss a year at Hogwarts, those who were taught under less than satisfactory conditions for their last year, and those who must complete another year to fulfill special requirements, must attend another year at Hogwarts in order to receive a diploma. Unfortunately, many of the core classes will have limited space, as their professors teach other class years. Therefore, more electives will be offered than usual for the attendance of Eighth Years only. While I am sure you may have concerns, I assure you that under the guidance of myself and the new Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the castle and its students will heal and learn more speedily after the horrors of the war _together_. Please send a reply signed by all eligible Eighth Year students under your care to indicate their understanding and acceptance of said terms. Sincerely, Minister Shacklebolt.’”

Silence descends on the family. Then after a moment, Harry speaks, his voice sharp. 

“What does he mean by,  _ the castle and its students will heal more speedily from the horrors of the war together?  _ Why is the castle mentioned as if it must heal?” Harry asks.

This time Mrs Weasley shares a concerned look with Mr Weasley.

“Well, my dear,” Mrs Weasley begins, then stops. 

“I believe what the Minister means,” Miss Granger says, her voice hollow, “is that the Battle of Hogwarts did not just leave scars on those fighting, but on the castle itself.”

Harry sits back, his heart pounding, imagining the scene of the Battle. He remembers a giant’s fist knocking into the Gryffindor Tower, the stone collapsing under the force. For some reason, Harry always assumed that the Ministry would dispatch a group of professional builders and with a flick of a wand the tower would restore itself. But this sounds ominous.

“Mr Weasley,” Harry says slowly, “does Dark magic leave different kinds of marks than Light?”

Mr Weasley nods his head, eyes sad, lingering on Harry's scar. “I’m afraid it does.”

“And what does the Minister mean by  _ those who must complete another year to fulfill special requirements?”  _ Weasley asks.

“I suspect,” Miss Granger says, her voice darker now, “he is referring to Death Eaters and those associated with them who received a lighter sentence on account of, well, special circumstances.”

“You are quite right, Miss Granger,” Mr Weasley says, inclining his head. 

“Mr Malfoy, then,” Harry says coldly. “I am surprised the Ministry would allow someone who plotted the death of Professor Dumbledore inside that very castle ever to return.”

“Do not judge him so harshly,” Mr Weasley says wisely, his eyes clouded. “After all, the Wizengamot has already done so.”

* * * 

“I am quite confused by the courses available for Eighth Years,” Miss Granger says, reading the letter again as they take their afternoon tea in the drawing room. When Harry and Weasley do not respond, Miss Granger makes an exasperated noise, looking pointedly at them. “Tell me you read the courses offered for Eighth Years. It was written in the letter, along with our supplies. Honestly, you must send your replies by tonight!”

“Miss Granger, you cannot pretend after such a long friendship as ours to presume us as prepared as yourself,” Weasley says, blushing when Miss Granger looks at him, surprised at the direct reference to their intimacy. He rarely does like to be sentimental. 

“Well, if you had cared to read the rest of the letter, you would have seen that the classes offered for Eighth Years are quite...unusual. For instance, there are only three core classes, Transfigurations with Professor McGonagall, Astronomy with Firenze, and History of Magic with Professor Binns.”

“Professor McGonagall will be teaching Transfigurations even as Headmistress?” Weasley asks doubtfully. 

“And Astronomy listed as a core class?” Harry asks. “That is very strange indeed.”

“I think I may understand,” Miss Granger says. Weasley and Harry share a brief look of fondness over their friend. “Yes, I believe these core classes will encompass much more than the stated subject. For instance, there is a high chance Transfigurations will be related to healing the castle. And Firenze is a centaur.”

“What do you mean by that?” Weasley asks.

“Well, I do not know exactly, but I suppose he will have abilities and insight that wizards and witches do not.”

“And History of Magic?” Harry asks.

Miss Granger half smiles. “Two reasons there. One, History of Magic, although often quite slow―”

“―dull is the word I’d have chosen―”

“―boring, more like―”

“―learning history is the only way we can stop ourselves from repeating the mistakes of the past. Second, Professor Binns is a ghost, which means he can manage more classes and not notice the difference.”

“Clever, as always, Miss Granger,” Weasley says, his voice quiet but his expression warm. This time Miss Granger blushes, looking down at her letter shyly, though nonetheless pleased. 

“The letter states that we must enroll in nine classes, which leaves six openings for other classes. And it looks like we have...yes, fourteen electives to choose from,” Miss Granger says, looking up at Weasley and Harry expectantly. “Well? Which classes have you two decided to take?”

“One can hardly expect me to know, can they?” Weasley cries. “Fourteen classes to choose from! Why, have  _ you  _ chosen yet?”

“Nearly,” she says, scanning the list. “What worries me is that seven of those fourteen classes which in past years were mandatory core classes have now been labeled ‘highly selective’ and optional.”

“Highly selective?” Harry echoes.

“Well, it is understandable. Professors of core classes under normal circumstances only teach First through Seventh Years, but this year they will also teach Eighth Years. Thus, they have lowered the number of students allowed to take their classes.”

“What if we are not accepted into a course?” Weasley asks worriedly. 

“That is interesting,” Miss Granger continues as if she had not heard Weasley. “The other eight classes which are not highly selective are considered true electives. They are taught by visiting Professors or are classes with normally low numbers, like Alchemy. I have always wanted to take Alchemy.” She looks wistful.

Weasley holds back a laugh. “Alchemy? How horrid!”

“It is quite useful, Mr Weasley. I wonder why they do not make it a core class.”

“Thank heavens not!” Harry exclaims. “I appreciate your zeal, but please refrain from demanding it from the rest of us.”

“Well, no matter,” Miss Granger says, trying not to roll her eyes, as that is considered highly improper. “The classes you may choose from are as follows: 

Potions with Professor Slughorn, highly selective

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Mr Bill Weasley, highly selective

Muggle Studies with Mr Creevey, highly selective

Divination with Professor Trewlaney, highly selective

Herbology with Professor Sprout, highly selective

Charms with Professor Flitwick, highly selective

Government with Minister Shacklebolt, highly selective

French with Mrs Fleur Delacour Weasley

Arithmancy with Professor Vector

Ancient Runes with Professor Babbling

Alchemy with Professor Aurus

Wandlore with Mr Ollivander 

Healing with Madame Pomfrey 

and lastly, Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Hagrid

Quite the selection to choose from, I must say. I would love to be able to take ten of them. Do you think Headmistress McGonagall would allow me to?”

“Ten classes!” Weasley exclaims. “Is not nine already overbearing?”

“And your brother and Mrs Delacour are teaching, that is very surprising!” Miss Granger continues muttering to herself. “And the Minister himself! I am sure that will be difficult to get into. Oh how I wish I could but take one more class!”

“I am sure she will let you,” Harry says impatiently. “That is not the question. The question is what Mr Weasley and I must choose.”

“Quite right,” Weasley says, nodding his head.

“Well, do you know what you wish to do after graduating?” Miss Granger asks hesitantly.

“I would like to be an auror, though I am not sure my marks from previous years will allow me to do so,” Weasley says, suddenly embarrassed. He steadfastly does not look at Miss Granger. 

“And you?” Miss Granger asks Harry as if she would much rather not. 

He thinks about his wand and attempting any magic with it. The very thought makes his throat tighten uncomfortably, and the back of his neck prickles. What will everyone say when they discover his utter inept after defeating the greatest sorcerer in the world? He will surely fall into disgrace; not being able to do magic is nearly as great an evil as using magic for true evil. Harry’s face burns under Miss Granger’s knowing scrutiny. 

“I don’t know,” Harry says finally. “Perhaps an auror as well.”

Miss Granger purses her lips for a moment, then sighs. “In that case, there are certain subjects you should consider taking, though I am not sure both of you will get in.” Her eyes dart to Weasley almost unwillingly, who flushes and looks firmly away. “You will want to apply for Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Government, and perhaps Charms, at the very least. Then I would highly recommend Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Alchemy as subjects that will only give more nuance and depth to your other subjects.”

“I admire your insistence,” Weasley says, “but I will not be taking any of those three classes if my life depended upon it.”

“What he means to say is thank you.” Harry smiles at Miss Granger, who sighs, but smiles.

“Be sure to send your response by tonight, and expect a few rejections. I hardly think Professor McGonagall shall play favorites in this,” she says carefully looking at neither of them. “Now, I must rest, for I expect we will know which classes we are accepted into by the morning after next, and from then on there will be no more peace.”

“Good night, Miss Granger,” Weasley says, rising and bowing. Miss Granger and Harry rise with him, then Miss Granger curtsies, and leaves the room. 

When she’s gone upstairs, Weasley looks at Harry, his forehead creased. 

“Do you suppose Miss Granger right? That we may not be accepted into the classes of our choice?” Weasley asks.

Harry bites his bottom lip. “I hope not. If it is decided by my Sixth Year marks, I’m afraid I will hardly get into much. But perhaps it is best this way.”

“Why?” Weasley looks surprised, then realizes and frowns. “No, you should not believe that. Your magic will right itself in no time. It just needs a little practice, that is all. We will both be accepted, I am sure. Professor McGonagall could not do otherwise with heroes of the war.”

“I hope you are right, Mr Weasley” Harry says sadly. “I hope you are right.” 


	2. A Favor

“I cannot believe it!” Weasley cries, holding up a letter. The rest of the family looks at him, startled. They are all eating breakfast in the dining room and reading the letters that just arrived from Hogwarts which will decide which courses they were accepted by and, if they were not, which remaining courses are still available. 

“Did not a single Professor accept you?” Miss Weasley asks, mocking. “I am so sorry, Ron, that is quite pitiful.”

“As a matter of fact, my sweet sister,” Weasley says, narrowing his eyes, “I have been accepted into all of my classes.”

“Why that’s wonderful news! If only Eighth Years were allowed Prefect privilege, I am sure you would be made one again!” Mrs Weasley exclaims, kissing her son on the cheek. “And what about you, Miss Granger?”

Miss Granger’s eyes continue rapidly reading her letter, which looks as if someone wrote a lengthy note at the bottom. 

“Well?” Weasley asks tensely when she finishes reading. 

Miss Granger looks up, smiling. “The Headmistress is allowing me to take ten classes.”

“I suppose if you are happy, my dear, that is all that matters,” Mrs Weasley says, though looking quite confused, as not even Percy had wanted to take more classes. “And you, Mr Potter?”

Harry looks up from his letter, distracted. “Oh me? Yes, I have been accepted.”

“To all of your classes?” Mrs Weasley asks, looking at him expectantly.

“Well, not quite, but I do not mind in the slightest,” Harry says, attempting to be cheerful. The rest of them look at him, including Mr Weasley, who lowers his Daily Prophet. “This is all for the best. I am sure the Headmistress had good reason not to accept me.”

“But you’re the Chosen One! The Savior!” Mrs Weasley demands. “You must be accepted. This simply will not do. I will write to the Headmistress this instant!”

“I am afraid, dear, that Harry should be satisfied with his results. The Headmistress, after all, did not choose those accepted. Rather, a combination of previous marks and the limited capacity made it so that I am sure Harry is not the only one who must take other classes.”

Harry looks down at his letter again, ignoring their stares. He was accepted into Herbology, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures. He was not accepted by Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Government, all of which are needed to become an auror. At the bottom of his letter is a statement from the Headmistress. It reads: 

_ Mr Potter, I must deny your request of Defense Against the Dark Arts, though not on account of previous marks. Given your history, I felt as though it would be more just to allow a student who truly needs the training to take your spot. Your diploma will reflect this. As for Potions and Government, your previous marks did not meet enough requirements for you to be admitted given their limited capacity. Please send a response with courses from the list below that you would like to enroll in. Whichever ones you should choose you will be automatically accepted. _

_ French with Mrs Fleur Delacour Weasley _

_ Arithmancy with Professor Vector _

_ Ancient Runes with Professor Babbling _

_ Alchemy with Professor Aurus _

_ Wandlore with Mr Ollivander  _

_ Healing with Madame Pomfrey  _

Harry looks at the list disdainfully. He decides that if he cannot manage Potions, he would be dismal in Alchemy. He is not quite sure what Arithmancy is, but if it was anything like Mathematics in Muggle education, then he is better off avoiding it. Ancient Runes sounds interesting, but Harry remembers from Miss Granger that the workload was quite intense. That leaves French, Wandlore, and Healing. 

After pondering a minute more, Harry reasons that French will at least be taught by someone with whom he is closely acquainted. Wandlore could be useful, given his present circumstances, and Mr Ollivander has always been kind to him, though quite odd. And finally, Healing looks to be the only class where he can hope the coursework will be at the very least manageable. 

He quickly writes his response, tying his letter to Pig’s claw, who excitedly flies out of the window and disappears into the blue sky.

* * * 

“Remind me again what classes you are taking,” Weasley says to Miss Granger as the three of them walk down Diagon Alley. 

“Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Government, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Alchemy, and Care of Magical Creatures.”

“But why didn’t you take Charms? You told _us_ to take it,” Weasley says.

“Well, I did want to, but then I would have to drop Care of Magical Creatures. I couldn’t bear to disappoint Professor Hagrid as we did that one time. I figured Charms was the only subject I felt comfortable missing, as I have already read the assigned textbook.”

“Of course you have,” Weasley mutters moodily. “Well, at least Professor Hagrid will be cheerful. Meanwhile Mr Potter and I must manage through Charms ourselves.”

“I am sure we will manage just fine,” Harry says. “At least neither of you will be taking Herbology with Neville and Professor Sprout.”

“I told you to take Muggle Studies with me,” Weasley says, unhelpfully.

Harry sighs. “I suppose I could have, but I thought perhaps Herbology would be useful for aurors. At least for me, as I am already familiar with the Muggle world.”

“And quite right for you to think so,” Miss Granger says firmly. “I would have taken Herbology as well.”

“Why ever did you not?” Weasley asks, lightly mocking. 

“And take eleven classes? What an absurd notion!” 

“But what is the difference between ten and eleven? It’s only one more!”

“One more, Mr Weasley? Oh no, I am afraid that ten is very much my limit,” she says, much to Weasley's exasperation and Harry's amusement. 

At that moment they walk past Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, where Harry glimpses a familiar face in the windows. He quickly excuses himself from the bickering pair on the pretense of quickly buying a new robe, but they hardly notice his escape, as they are so caught up in each other’s company. 

Harry opens the door to the shop hesitantly, wondering if he was right in what he saw. The inside is empty upon first glance, but then Harry sees Mrs Malfoy sitting in the corner of the room. She rises when he notices her. 

“Mr Potter,” she says, her voice betraying nothing. “A pleasure.”

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry says, bowing his head stiffly. She inclines her head in return. 

They stare at the ground, an awkward silence ensuing. Harry briefly remembers his first visit to Diagon Alley, when he was only eleven, and had met Malfoy buying robes. He realizes now the multitude of things he said and did that would have offended someone like Malfoy, who had grown up in such an old fashioned world. 

“I trust you are well?” Mrs Malfoy asks politely. Harry nearly starts, being quite surprised she has continued the conversation. 

“Yes, thank you. And yourself?”

“As well as can be hoped.” She hesitates, looking at the door to the back of the shop where the fitting rooms are, and where Harry assumes Malfoy must be getting fitted for new robes. “We are very grateful for your testimony at our trials.”

“I was a witness,” Harry says. “I was only telling the truth.”

Mrs Malfoy smiles, but it is pained. They both know if it was not for Harry, she and Malfoy would serve time in Azkaban along with her husband. “The truth is a very valuable thing.”

“It is necessary now more so than ever,” Harry says. “Perhaps many things would be different if people only told the truth.”

Mrs Malfoy looks away. Harry thinks he might have gone too far, and she would not answer, but she looks at him again with pleading eyes. “Mr Potter, though I know it is not my place, I must ask you a favor. Mr Malfoy, you must know, will be attending Hogwarts for his Eighth Year. He will not have many friends there. I fear for his safety.”

“Are you asking me to protect him?”

“Simply to keep an eye on him, in case others might target him. He should not pay the price of his parents’ mistakes.”

“But everyone else has to, do they not?”

Mrs Malfoy looks startled and ashamed. It does not fit her aristocratic features, and Harry’s stomach twists uncomfortably. He regrets his comment, though he meant every word.

Before either of them can try to amend the breach in conversation, Malfoy and Madam Malkin return from the fitting rooms. They both look surprised and slightly worried to see Harry standing there. 

“Madam Malkin,” Harry says with a slight bow. 

“Mr Potter,” she replies with a curtsy, eyeing each of the Malfoys warily. The last time they were all in this shop at the same time, a duel almost broke out between Harry and Mr Malfoy.

Harry looks at Malfoy hesitantly. The latter stiffly inclines his head, not wanting to appear rude but perhaps resenting that he must acknowledge his boyhood rival. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Harry murmurs, reluctantly. 

When it is clear a conversation will not take place, much less a duel, Mrs Malfoy and her son pay for the robes and quickly depart the shop. Harry watches them leave with an odd feeling in his chest that he cannot define, like missing a step on the stairs and for half a second being suspended in midair. 

“Mr Potter, what can I assist you with today?”

Harry turns around.

* * * 

  
  


Harry stands on Platform 9 of King’s Cross Station with Miss Granger and the Weasleys. As usual, they stand out sorely, being dressed in what is considered casual attire among the magical community. This means the women wear long dresses with corsets and multiple layers of fabric, although plain and practical for witches, they appear grossly outdated to the Muggles passing by, many of whom look quizzically at them. 

Harry himself wears a waistcoat, vest, and a collar which is buttoned to the top of his neck. All of them wear dark brown traveling robes, besides Mr and Mrs Weasley who wear colorful daytime robes. 

“Well, children, here we are,” Mrs Weasley says with a nervous smile, her arm tightly linked with her daughter’s as if she might not let go. She has worried herself sick these past few days making sure each of them was all packed and ready to return to Hogwarts. Although she did not voice her concerns specifically, Harry suspects that she worries the castle will only bring back horrible memories. 

Harry looks at the platform wall. His stomach dips nervously as he realizes this will definitely be the last time he walks through the wall as a student. It makes him nostalgic for the last time he walked through this wall, blissfully unaware that he might never do so again, just happy to be returning home. 

Miss Granger sighs beside him. “We should go or we might miss the train.” But she does not move.

“Perhaps sooner than we think, we will all return here with our children,” Weasley says quietly, eyes flicking over to Miss Granger who looks away with a blush rising on her cheeks. 

“First, let us finish our schooling,” Harry says dryly, the overwhelmingly lovesickness of his friends bringing him out of his reverie, and they walk together through the platform wall, with Miss Weasley and Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley behind them. 

The Muggle station falls away and reveals Platform 9¾, the black and red Hogwarts Express gleaming in all of its glory, with steam puffing from the engine as it prepares to depart. 

“Look who it is,” Weasley mutters, looking across the platform. Harry and Miss Granger turn their heads to see Mrs Malfoy and her son huddled together a few paces from the train, clearly having a tense conversation. 

Suddenly Malfoy looks up, catching Harry’s eye with his grey ones, before his gaze slides away and Harry is not sure that Malfoy saw him at all. That same feeling returns to his chest, and he has to look away.

“Mr Potter, if I may have a word,” Mrs Weasley says, waving off her son and Miss Granger when they realize that Harry has been detained. “Privately, please.”

“Of course.” Harry follows with one last glance back at Weasley and Miss Granger, who board the train together and disappear inside. Mrs Weasley looks at him with a troubled expression. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no, nothing the matter at all,” she says with a forced smile. “I only wanted to say that I know to you, more than most, Hogwarts is home. Thus, I felt it my responsibility as your guardian and as someone who cares deeply for you, to tell you that Hogwarts has suffered tremendously this past year. Please, be patient with her as she heals. But more importantly, be patient as  _ you  _ heal, for I cannot pretend to have missed you struggling with your magic, though I did not mention anything for fear of offending you. Now it has become unavoidable, so I will let you go with one last piece of advice: Be patient, Harry, and all will be well.”

Harry stares at her, wondering what to say. He wants to say that he chose Hogwarts as his home, but that she chose him as her son, and that the latter means more to him than anything in the world. Instead he says, “Thank you, Mrs Weasley. I greatly appreciate your advice, and I will write to you when we arrive.”

She nods with a look of motherly affection, then steps aside. Harry hesitates for one moment. He looks across the platform, but it is empty. Malfoy must already be on the train. 

Harry bows to Mr and Mrs Weasley, then boards the train. 


	3. A Welcome Feast

Harry quickly finds Weasley and Miss Granger in a compartment with Miss Weasley, Mr Longbottom, and Miss Lovegood. He squeezes in beside Miss Weasley, who casts a withering glare at her brother and Miss Granger, who have begun bickering again. 

Mr Longbottom stands before Harry can object. “Mr Potter, sir.”

“How do you do, Mr Longbottom?” Harry asks politely. “Please, do not stand on my account.”

Longbottom smiles proudly, as if personally pleased that Harry has addressed him, then sits. “Very well, thank you. It is very gracious of the Headmistress to allow us another year at Hogwarts, is it not?”

“Quite gracious.”

“What courses will you be taking? I am most looking forward to Herbology, though I doubt there is much surprise there. Professor Sprout sent me a personal letter to tell me how excited she is for us to work together one last time. And you know, she mentioned that you will also be taking Herbology! Who would have thought! I was very pleased to hear it, I must say, Mr Potter.”

Harry tries not to look at Miss Weasley, who is barely containing her laughter. 

“Very exciting, definitely,” Harry says. 

“Mr Potter, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Miss Lovegood says in her airy voice. “I was afraid you would not come back.”

The entire compartment goes silent, even Weasley and Miss Granger stop their bickering and everyone besides Longbottom looks at Miss Lovegood and Harry apprehensively. Harry wonders if Miss Lovegood knows about his uncontrollable magic. Would he fall to disgrace so soon? The thought makes him tremble. 

“Were you?” Harry asks tersely. 

Miss Lovegood does not seem to notice his tone. “Yes, I was. I did not think you needed any more schooling. I was under the impression you wished to be an auror, and would likely apply right away. Forgive me my presumption, Mr Potter. I suppose even Saviors must learn Herbology after all.”

Harry nearly sighs in relief. Miss Granger looks at him sharply, as if to say this will be the consequence of not getting a new wand. He ignores her look, and instead bows his head to Miss Lovegood.

“I forgive your presumption, Miss Lovegood. I might have wished to become an auror once, but with my poor marks I have not been accepted into the classes which will allow me to apply for the program.”

“But Mr Potter,” Longbottom says, “you defeated the most powerful sorcerer in the world! The auror program will not spare a second glance at a poor mark once they see your name.”

“Thank you, Mr Longbottom, but I assure you, the rules are quite clear. Besides, I would not want special treatment on account of who I was or what I did. I wish to be accepted upon pure merit, on account of who I am now.”

“That is very noble of you,” Miss Weasley says, nearly mocking. She is perhaps the only person Harry is comfortable with teasing him about this. 

“I quite agree,” Longbottom says, and it takes all of Harry and Miss Weasley’s self restraint not to laugh. They share a smile, but Harry drops his when he notices Weasley looking at them hopefully. 

Miss Weasley notices as well, and looks down, annoyed, her lips pursed. Although Harry once thought of courting Miss Weasley, the sentiment passed as quickly as it came when they both realized there was no real feeling attached to their mutual affection. It was brotherly and sisterly love, and that is all. Unfortunately, her brother still wishes for his sister and closest friend to unite their families and make Harry a true brother to himself. 

“I must wonder,” Miss Granger says in an attempt at changing subjects, “how this school year will turn out, given the circumstances.”

“Why do you say that?” Weasley asks. 

“I simply worry of the divisions at the school, especially with the Slytherin house. How does the Headmistress expect us simply to forget the horrible things done by them during the Battle?”

“I suppose,” Longbottom says quietly, sounding oddly solemn, “she means us not to forget, but to forgive.”

“I find forgiveness in this instance as quite worse than forgetting,” Miss Weasley says carelessly, though it is only to hide her true sorrow. “If the Headmistress asked me, I would rather pretend nothing happened than acknowledge it.”

“How do you expect to heal, if you never acknowledge the wound?” Miss Lovegood asks.

“You make a good point, Miss Lovegood,” Harry says when he notices Miss Weasley’s cheerful disposition waver at the question, “but it does not make it any easier.”

“And why should healing be easy?” Miss Lovegood asks, cocking her head at Harry. 

Nobody has an answer for that.

* * * 

Though the letter from the Minister alluded to it, and Mrs Weasley herself warned Harry, there could be no preparation for the state of the castle upon arrival. 

The student body exits the train and moves towards the castle in a hush, even the First Years do not speak as Professor Hagrid rounds them into the boats. Everyone else is pulled in their carriages by the thestrals down the country road and up to the castle gates. 

When the castle finally looms into view, many gasp. To the horror of Harry and many others, they realize that Gryffindor tower is only a pile of rubbish and debris on the ground that has been half-heartedly swept into a large mound. Beside her Miss Granger bites back a sob. 

The rest of the castle did not fare better, with large streaks of black as thick as tar marring the beautiful stone. Chunks of the walls are missing where a spell blasted through it. Great swathes of the castle grounds are completely burnt and show no signs of returning life. 

Their procession into the castle is more like a funeral march, and no one says much as they take their seats for the Welcome Feast. Harry is in such a daze that he nearly sits down right away, and is saved from embarrassment by Weasley’s firm hand preventing him. They remain standing throughout the Sorting, which is conducted with more gravity than usual. Finally, the last small First Year is sorted into Ravenclaw. 

The Headmistress steps up to the podium. “You may be seated.”

Everyone sits down in a clamor of benches scraping and suddenly the students can no longer hold back, and conversation breaks out loudly among the tables. Mostly people whisper about the High Table and the notable additions to the professors, such as Mr Ollivander and the Minister, as well as Mr and Mrs Bill Weasley. It takes a few moments for the uproar in the Great Hall to quiet down. At the podium Professor McGonagall looks sternly down her nose at the students until gradually silence descends. 

“Good evening, Hogwarts,” she begins in a solemn tone. “I believe tradition would demand us to feast before I make any speech, but under the present circumstances, I believe that a few words to begin with will allow us to truly enjoy our meal, as everyone will thus be on the same page.

“First, I must acknowledge the pain and suffering we all have endured these last few―nay, many years―by the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many in this room have lost family and friends fighting against the hatred and evil that he spread. But it is in trying times as these when friendship, patience, and understanding are most needed. That is why I have decided not to cancel this year’s education at Hogwarts, despite the horror that these walls have seen so very recently. The Battle was won, but the scars of the war still need time to heal. 

“This brings me to my next two points. As many of you saw upon arrival, the castle has sustained severe damages from the Battle fought on its grounds. Some have criticized my decision to allow students to see such ruin at a place that many of you call home. However, I do not wish to protect you from the tragedy, because, indeed, all of you in some shape or form have already witnessed―if not experienced first-hand―the suffering that took place last May. As such, I see an opportunity for all of us to take a hand in healing this castle, in the hopes that it may also bring us comfort in times of sorrow, and reunite us in a common purpose.”

At this comment, Harry cannot help looking across the room and searching the Slytherin table. They are by and large the smallest group compared to the other three houses, though not by much. Clearly many of them would rather not be there, but as it happens, many also do not have a choice. He finally sees Malfoy seated at the edge of the table, between Mr Goyle, who looks distraught, and Miss Parkinson, who also sits beside Mr Zabini and across from Mr Nott. There is a notable empty space across from Mr Goyle. Malfoy himself betrays nothing in his face besides a slight downturn at the corners of his mouth. 

Suddenly Malfoy looks up and they lock eyes. Harry forces himself to look away, focusing on the Headmistress’s speech. 

“Lastly, while much about this year will contrast to previous years at Hogwarts, perhaps the most notable addition are the Eighth Years, who comprise of students that either missed their final year at Hogwarts due to special circumstances, or did not receive a suitable education last year as to prepare them fully for particular careers after Hogwarts. I will be speaking with the Eighth Years after the feast separately for further details about my expectations of them.

“To conclude, I must emphasize the four Houses that make up this school. Over the summer, in preparation for my role as Headmistress, I reflected on the Houses and their historical meaning. Gryffindor, for those that value bravery. Ravenclaw, for those that value cleverness. Hufflepuff, for those that value loyalty. And Slytherin, for those that value ambition. But these Houses represent something far greater than dividing a student body by their values. 

“Hogwarts has stood, and still stands, as one people, not divided by their Houses, but united in their differences. It is by coming together despite differences, in fact,  _ for  _ those very differences, in order that we may learn from each other, that we honor the legacy of this school, and its founders. 

“I do not pretend the end of the war has erased such differences, and nor should you. Instead, use these differences as a reason, _ a duty,  _ to empathize with others whom you do not understand. You may be surprised to discover that we are not so different from each other after all.

“Now without further delay, let the feasting commence!”

With the conclusion of her speech, the conversation livens again, and the clattering of silverware and the chatter of young voices fills the hall. The proper rejoices at seeing old friends again are made and the usual gossip mill starts up, as good as new. Mr Thomas and Mr Finnigan laugh boisterously with Weasley. There is already talk of a Welcome Ball the following weekend, and many wonder if the Slytherins should be invited.

Harry looks at all of the food prepared for them, but he cannot find his appetite. All he can think about is where they will live, if not Gryffindor Tower. However, so as to show good breeding, Harry places the appropriate amount of food on his plate and begins to eat. 

* * * 

At the end of the feast, the Prefects lead each house to their dormitories. Many of the Gryffindors exchange grim looks as their Prefect leads them in the direction of the castle grounds instead of with the Ravenclaws to the towers. 

The Eighth Years remain at their tables, and with the rest of the student body gone, even the other professors, they look a pitiful group, scattered amongst the different house tables, hardly forty in number. Harry’s chest pangs when he notices the gaps, and the friends of those who died in battle, left alone among the living. Miss Parvati Patil, for instance, sits alone and quiet, where only a year ago she would have been giggling and gossiping with the late Miss Brown, who was one among the Fifty Fallen. 

The Headmistress calls for them to come closer near the podium. They rise and settle at the front of the long tables. Malfoy sits as far away as possible. Professor McGonagall walks down from the podium and stands before them. This close, Harry can see how exhausted she looks, and he realizes how much this must cost her. 

“Eighth Years, thank you for returning to Hogwarts after so recent a tragedy. I know how difficult this must be, when we have all lost someone dear to us within these walls. When I look amongst you, I cannot help but see where others should be, who are now lost to us.” 

The Headmistress pauses, appearing to compose herself. Harry can hear others, including Miss Granger and Miss Patil, holding back their sorrow. The sniffles and sighs amongst them echo pitifully in the empty hall. 

“As we stand here today, and over the course of the next year, we all have a choice, as the late Professor Dumbledore always said, to choose what is right, or what is easy. As the eldest year, you lead by example, and as honored heroes of the war, the responsibility is, to say the least, significant. While you are all here first and foremost for an education, I must remind each and every one of you that this class year represents something much greater, a symbol of unity after years of destruction and fragmentation. 

“As such, I will begin with an explanation of a few important changes to your curriculum, as I am sure you all noticed in my letter. Firstly, I will be teaching Transfigurations for Eighth Years only. It is a mandatory course where we will be applying past curriculum with my guidance. Some of you may have already guessed, but this application will primarily include restoration of the castle and castle grounds. Much of the work you will be doing might be tedious, but I have faith it will also be healing in more ways than one.

“Secondly, Astronomy was also listed as a mandatory course, and will be taught by the centaur Firenze. He has agreed only to teach Eighth Years, and you shall find that his teaching style will be quite different than his previous classes. I only hope that his course will open your eyes to each other as much as to the stars above.

“Lastly, since many of you have completed much of the Hogwarts curriculum, I find it unnecessary to reteach topics that have already been learned. That is partly why I allowed most classes to be optional, and why many classes will be taught by guests very much esteemed in their respective fields. It is time to narrow your focus and choose an area of work that you would like to pursue after graduating. The smaller class sizes will allow you to form meaningful connections with your professors, which can prove useful later on as an apprenticeship or letter of recommendation for higher education. Use your time wisely. 

“This year is a stepping stone, a time of healing and also a time of growth. It is my mission that upon receiving your diplomas, you are most prepared for the life you have chosen. Now, are there any questions?”

Harry raises his hand immediately, then blushes when he is the only one.

“Yes, Mr Potter.”

“Pardon me, Headmistress, I could not help but notice the damage done to Gryffindor Tower. Where will the Gryffindor house find accommodations?”

The Headmistress purses her lips, as if the situation is as dreadful to her as to the current Gryffindor students. “Unfortunately, the condition of Gryffindor Tower prohibits its use by students. A tent has been erected on the grounds that I hope will satisfy the Gryffindor house, though I understand will never replace the Tower.”

Harry shares a silent look with Weasley and Miss Granger. Then the Eighth Years are dismissed, and the Headmistress leads those of Gryffindor beyond the gates and across the lawn, where a small white tent with a Gryffindor flag flying at the top looks over the lake, glittering under the moonlight. 

“But Headmistress,” Weasely begins, then stops at one look from Professor McGonagall. 

“Please, Mr Weasely, at least look inside. The password is ‘unity.’”

Harry is the first at the tent flap. He hesitates, then says the password. The flaps rolls up by magic, and Harry ducks inside. To his amazement, he has entered the Gryffindor common room, or at least what looks almost identical to it. Weasley and Miss Granger follow behind him joined by gasps and surprised laughs. 

A fireplace roars on the opposite wall, framed by couches and armchairs, and the ceiling is vaulted with dark wood and strung with banners and lights. Other students mill about, already studying at large tables or spread out playing card games on the rug. Two staircases lead to the boys and girls dormitories, exactly as they would in the tower. Harry cannot believe it.

“This is truly magical, Headmistress,” Harry says. 

“Indeed it is, Mr Potter,” she replies with a small smile. “And now I must excuse myself. There is much to do and very little time. I look forward to seeing all of you tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp for our first Transfigurations class.”

When she leaves, Harry, Weasley, and Miss Granger sit beside the fire. Weasley rings for tea, and a few moments later, they all hold steaming cups of tea on little porcelain saucers. 

“Have you looked at your schedules yet?” Miss Granger asks, then sighs when she catches the alarmed faces of her companions. “Of course not. Both of you should look at your schedules immediately and mark your classes.”

Harry and Weasley blush as they hastily retrieve their schedules that were quickly placed in their pockets at dinner only to forget they were there. With a quill, they mark their classes, then lean closer together to compare.

“I do not have a single class on Monday!” Harry exclaims, dropping his smile when Miss Granger looks at him sharply. “Naturally, I will use this time to study.”

“I only have Defense Against the Dark Arts on Monday,” Weasely says, smiling at Harry. “How would you like to study  _ together _ , Mr Potter?”

“I would quite like that, Mr Weasley,” Harry says, now unable to contain a grin.

“Honestly, both of you had better study when you can. This year will be much more challenging,” Miss Granger says sternly. 

“Why, Miss Granger, we will not see you at all outside of class!” Weasley cries upon looking at her schedule. 

“Nonsense,” she says. “We shall see each other at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not to mention the several classes we share together.”

“I suppose so,” Weasely mumbles, clearly not satisfied. Miss Granger blushes profusely. Harry looks away. He does not understand why they tiptoe so much around the obvious. 

If Harry were Weasley, he would have proposed several months ago. Weasley had tried to court Miss Granger last year, but what with the war and the hunt for Horcruxes, love-making was not the top priority. At the final battle, afraid that he or she may die before the day ended, Weasely had professed his undying love and Miss Granger returned his feelings with the same enthusiasm. However, with the aftermath of the war, with Mr Fred Weasley’s death and the death of many others, nothing came about from such a grand profession, and they returned much to the same place they had always been, bickering and staring at each other longingly when they believe the other unawares. 

Now Harry fears that if Weasley does not propose soon, Miss Granger may think his feelings changed, and will lose hope and grow distant. Her natural reaction will thus discourage Weasley’s already timid confidence, and he will put off a proposal until the day he dies. And Harry must watch his closest friends grow apart miserably, completely helpless in the situation. 

“Well, we had better be off to bed,” Miss Granger says. “All of us have Transfigurations at nine o’clock tomorrow, and if my inclination is correct, we will be put to work right away.”

Weasley rises reluctantly, bowing to Miss Granger, who curtsies in return. Harry inclines his head, then they separate to their respective dormitories. 

Once in bed, Harry cannot sleep. He fears tomorrow more than anything, as it will be the first true test of his magic. The other boys are asleep, with Weasley snoring the loudest, so Harry considers it safe to take his wand out and practice.

He takes his Marauder's Map, pointing the tip of his wand at the blank parchment. He whispers, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” In the dim light of the moon through the windows, he can barely make out the map unfolding gently across the parchment. 

Taking this to be a good sign, Harry takes a deep breath, and says,  _ “Lumos.” _

The tip of his wand flickers with light, then sputters out, like the flame of a candle in the wind. He clenches his jaw and swings his arm as if he might will his magic to work, saying the spell again through gritted teeth. The light flickers again, then suddenly a blinding light explodes from his wand and fills the entire room, waking everyone with shouts and curses. 

Harry desperately tries to stop the spell, shouting  _ Nox  _ several times, until finally succeeding with one last swing of his wand to stop the light and returning the room to darkness. He breathes hard. There is a long silence on the other side of the curtains. 

“Potter?” Weasley asks hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Harry says harshly. “Thank you, Weasley,” Harry adds, hoping he did not offend. The last thing he needs is a breach in friendship with one of the only people who understands his pain. 

Another pause. “Good night, Potter.”

“Good night, Weasley.”

Harry does not fall asleep for a very long time.


	4. A Bird

“They say we are having a Welcome Ball this Saturday evening,” Miss Granger says, scraping jam on her scone. “I hardly know if I will have the time. I must begin studying tonight.”

“Tonight? We have not even attended a single class yet!” Weasley says.

“Not to mention,” Miss Granger continues, “the dinner party for Eighth Years that will take place this Friday evening in anticipation for the ball.” Her eyes flick up towards Weasley, whose lips press together. It is custom at Hogwarts to have dinner parties the night before a ball for the opportunity of securing the first and perhaps second dances of the night. 

“Who will be hosting the dinner party?” Harry asks, suddenly distracted when he sees Malfoy walk up to the High Table and bow deeply to Headmistress McGonagall. 

“I believe Gryffindors,” Miss Granger says, then she casts a quick  _ Tempus.  _ “Goodness! Look at the time, we must be off.”

Harry and Weasley rise from the table with Miss Granger, then depart from the Great Hall and walk towards the castle grounds, where the first class will be held. Harry sees Malfoy still in a tense discussion with the Headmistress, before stiffly inclining his head and leaving in the same direction as Harry, who turns his head quickly so as not to be caught staring.

“Weasley,” Harry whispers so that Miss Granger, who is three paces ahead of them, does not hear. “I must ask you a favor. When I need to preform magic, would you be willing to preform it for me? Nobody must know―and I fear―I am not ready yet.”

Weasley listens gravely. “Of course. Best not to reveal this...unfortunate circumstance until absolutely unavoidable. Though I do not know for how long this will suffice.”

“Until I find a solution, if I am lucky.”

Professor McGonagall appears after Malfoy. The rest of the Eighth Years have just arrived and stand beside a large wall that has crumbled down since the battle. 

“Good morning, Eighth Years. Today we will be cleaning this area and begin repairing the wall that has been so utterly destroyed. This is no easy task, but I am confident that  _ together  _ we shall rebuild it.

“The rock here is not just rock. Otherwise, a simple Vanishing charm would do the trick. This rock has been exposed to Dark magic. It is, in a sense, poisoned. Before any magic can be used to remove the debris, it must be reverted into its original state. This requires a branch of magic called Untransfiguration. It is the art of reversing previous transfiguration and essentially works as a counter-curse. Please refer to your syllabus for the appropriate spells that will be helpful in such an endeavor. Begin.”

Harry shares a glance with Weasley, who discreetly motions for him to come closer. Miss Granger eyes them warily, then walks to a pile of rock a few yards away. She points her wand at the debris. Everyone seems to be watching her. 

_ “Transvecto venenum.” _

The rock trembles, then a dark black liquid, darker than blood, begins to trickle out of the rock itself, like tears rolling down a face, which drip onto the ground before vanishing with a hiss of steam. Miss Granger stares, shocked. 

“Now the Vanishing charm,” Professor McGonagall says, her voice trembling. Miss Granger looks up, her eyes shining with tears, then points her wand at the rock again. 

“ _ Evanesco.” _

The rock vanishes. 

“Perfectly done, Miss Granger. Now, if everyone else would take her lead, we will be well on our way to restoring the wall.”

For the next hour, Harry and Weasley use the spells given and attempt extracting the poison of Dark spells from the stone and vanishing them. Whenever it is Harry casting, Weasley will discreetly perform the spell himself. Miss Granger, of course, caught on immediately, and was not very amused.

“Stop this immediately, Mr Potter, or you will only embarrass yourself more,” she whispers urgently. He ignores her. His reputation is at stake, not hers.

Halfway through the class, Harry notices that Malfoy, who stands with a group of other Slytherins, Miss Parkinson, Mr Zabini, and Mr Goyle among them, has not even touched his wand, only standing stiffly out of the way. Professor McGonagall also notices, and with a sigh, walks over to him. 

Harry is too far away to hear their conversation, but from the looks of it, neither are too happy with the situation. Then Malfoy bows, as if reaching a conclusion, and walks away. Harry is shocked, and almost tells Weasley and Miss Granger of the odd incident, when just as quickly as he left, Malfoy returns and to his absolute surprise, pushing a large wheelbarrow. 

“Eighth Years!" Professor McGonagall calls out to us. "As we begin to encounter larger stone that has not cracked or crumbled, I ask you please to levitate those stones that have been, of course, properly transfigured to a usable state, onto this wheelbarrow. We hope to salvage as much as possible.”

For the remainder of the class, Harry watches in fascination, nearly blushing at the sight, as Malfoy removes his cloak and waistcoat, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows, and pushing the wheelbarrow around with only a stern set of his mouth any indication of his displeasure. After a quarter of an hour in the hot sun, Harry can see Malfoy’s temples gleaming from the effort. Weasley nearly laughs. 

“He looks quite ridiculous having resorted to such manual labor,” Weasley says with a smirk. “For all of their refinement and taste, here is Mr Malfoy, the heir of the Malfoy Manor, pushing a wheelbarrow. It is comedy itself.”

Harry cannot quite share the same sentiments, perhaps because he did not always associate manual labor with such derision as Weasley does. He, in fact, finds a nobility and class in Malfoy helping in this very physical way. Though he doubts Professor McGonagall gave him much choice in the matter, Harry secretly admires Malfoy accepting the job with such dignity. 

After another hour clearing out the debris, the class comes to an end, and Harry feels as if, for the time being, he can breathe again. As they begin their walk back into the castle for their next class, however, Harry hears his name being called, and he stops in his tracks as the rest of the class leaves.

The Headmistress comes to stand in front of him. His heart beats faster. “Mr Potter, I must ask. Is something the matter?”

“Pardon?”

“Is something the matter? Anything at all?”

“I fear I do not understand the implications of the question,” Harry says coldly.

Professor McGonagall raises a brow at his tone. “My job as Headmistress is not to hand out detentions, Mr Potter. I am only here to help the students in any way I can. I understand that life at Hogwarts is very different than what it once was, but that does not make this year any less important. If there is anything the matter, Mr Potter, do not hesitate to ask for help. It will not make you weak, but brave.”

“I thank you, Headmistress, but I assure you, nothing is the matter, nothing at all,” Harry lies, forcing a smile. “I must excuse myself. I will be late for Wandlore.”

He bows and walks away as fast as politely acceptable, realizing with half amusement and half embarrassment that he and Weasley must not have been nearly as discreet as they had thought. 

* * *

Mr Ollivander stands in the front of the class, leaning heavily on a wooden staff for support. He looks as frail and grey as ever, his milky blue eyes roaming the room. Harry looks around the class. There must be about eighteen of them, a much smaller class size than he is used to. He sits beside Longbottom, Malfoy sits in the back of the classroom beside Goyle who seems to follow him around, and Miss Padma Patil, Mr Corner, Miss Davis, and Mr Smith that he sees at first glance sit on the other side of the aisle. 

“Welcome to Wandlore,” Mr Ollivander says in a whisper of a voice. “I am Mr Ollivander. Most of you know me as the owner of Ollivanders in Diagon Alley. Indeed, I have sold wands to many in this room. This class will teach you the basics of Wandlore, which is a complex and mysterious branch of magic. My hope is that by the end of the year one of you will choose to be my apprentice, and carry on their studies under my guidance.”

Harry is surprised by this. He understood that a cordial relationship with a professor may indirectly lead to an apprenticeship, but he had not thought the Headmistress meant it in a literal sense. Others around the room have similar intrigued expressions, except Malfoy, who sits perfectly still, as quiet and cold as a statue. This, at least, is not surprising. To those of Malfoy’s rank, an apprenticeship is generally thought to be beneath them. 

“To begin our first class, please answer this question for me: what does magic feel like to  _ you _ ?”

He looks around the room expectantly. After a beat, Miss Patil raises her hand cautiously. 

“Miss Patil, sir. It is hard to describe exactly, but to me, magic feels like another heart beating next to mine. It has its own feelings, thoughts, wishes. I feel its pulse in my own, separate but also the same.”

Others in the room nod along with her, as if in agreement, but others shake their heads. Miss Davis raises her hand. 

“Miss Davis, sir. To me magic could hardly feel more different. My magic is like a current, but it is very much my own. I command the current to obey whatever spell I choose to cast. While I have total control, the current is very powerful, and technique is necessary in order to balance direction with power.”

Harry finds this closer to his own experience with magic, and yet, it does not quite match. Longbottom raises his hand. 

“Mr Longbottom, sir. Magic is like a song, it either flows in harmony or it does not, and casting a spell is like learning to dance to those notes, in rhythm and never taking a wrong step.”

“Nicely said, Mr Longbottom,” Mr Ollivander says, and Longbottom smiles. After a few more people answer the question, Mr Ollivander calls on Malfoy, who is the only other person besides Harry to not have offered an answer. “And you, Mr Malfoy?”

Harry tries not to turn around and watch Malfoy’s expression. His voice sounds reluctant, and Harry can imagine the muscle in his jaw flickering. 

“Magic...is like a bird, caught in my grasp. If I tighten my hold too much, it dies. But if I let go...it flies away.”

Mr Ollivander nods, taking a moment to contemplate. Then he turns his eyes to Harry. The entire room seems to hush, curious as to what the Savior has to say. Harry’s heart beats clumsily in his throat. 

“And you, Mr Potter?”

“Sir?”

“What does magic feel like to you?”

“To me?”

A few students in the class titter at the exchange. Harry’s cheeks burn. Mr Ollivander nods his head as an answer. 

“Why...well―to me―I suppose―it feels―uncontrollable.” 

The moment the word comes out of his mouth, Harry regrets it. The entire class is silent. Did they understand his full meaning? Or do they take his description figuratively? Mr Ollivander only nods his head. 

“A heartbeat, a current, a bird...what do all of these have in common?” Mr Ollivander asks.

Corner raises his hand. “They are alive, sir.”

There is another eerie silence. Harry feels his chest constrict, thinking about magic, the impossibility of it, and yet the miracle of it, the beauty in a spell cast perfectly. His eyes begin to burn when he realizes just how much he has lost, and he hastens to compose himself. 

“Alive, yes. Magic is sentient. But I will take it one step further and say that magic is sentience itself. Oh yes, magic has a mind of its own. And when one studies Wandlore, one realizes that this is the question. Not what wood to use, or what core is best. No. The question is what does it mean to be _ alive? _

“I hope by the end of the year each of us has an answer, for that is the only way to truly understand magic, and thus to understand the nature of wands. In the meantime, for the rest of the hour before you are dismissed for lunch, I would like each of you to write at least half a foot describing your magic in detail, then place the parchment on my desk. Thank you and I will see all of you at two o’clock.”

Then Mr Ollivander limps to his seat behind his desk which faces the class, and closes his eyes with a laborious sigh. 

* * *

“How was your class with Mr Ollivander?” Miss Granger asks with genuine curiosity. Harry found her and Weasley sitting in an awkward silence in the Great Hall waiting for him. When he sits down beside Weasley, a miniature banquet appears between them, and they serve themselves chicken and salad and chips.

“He was...odd,” Harry says, carefully slicing a piece of chicken. 

Weasley smiles. “That’s not very surprising now is it?”

“Is that all?” Miss Granger asks keenly. 

“No,” Harry says, looking down at his plate. “It was different than any other class I have taken at Hogwarts, if I am perfectly honest. He asked us what magic feels like and then proceeded to tell us that magic was alive.”

Miss Granger looks troubled. “Your magic?”

“Well, yes. He asked everyone and our answers were very vague, I assure you. Mr Longbottom described it as singing and dancing,” Harry says hurriedly, not wanting Miss Granger to ask what  _ he  _ said in response. “Mr Ollivander also mentioned that he was looking for an apprentice by the end of the year.”

“An apprentice?” Miss Granger asks thoughtfully. “That would be quite an honor. Say, who else is in the class besides Mr Longbottom?”

“I remember Mr Corner, Miss Patil from Ravenclaw, and Mr Smith. Miss Davis from Slytherin as well, and a few others. Oh, yes, and Mr Malfoy and Mr Goyle.” Harry continues eating, ignoring the looks from Weasley and Miss Granger.

“Mr Malfoy and Mr Goyle taking a class on Wandlore? That is quite confounding,” Miss Granger says. 

“I suppose Mr Goyle is only taking it because of Mr Malfoy. He trails after him like a lost pup,” Weasley says with a barely disguised smirk. Miss Granger gives him a disapproving look. 

“That is not very fair, is it?” she says, and Weasley flushes, going silent at the reprimand. 

“But why should Mr Malfoy’s presence be surprising?” Harry asks, trying to steer them away from dangerous waters. Miss Granger spares Weasley one last frown before turning her attention to Harry. 

“Please take no offense to this, Mr Potter, but Mr Malfoy had the best marks in our year besides me. I suppose I thought he would have taken classes similar to mine. Though that is not to say Wandlore is not a most interesting subject, and I would have taken it if I had the time. However, as you said, the study of Wandlore ends with an apprenticeship. Those of Mr Malfoy’s position and rank do not find apprenticeships very attractive.”

“I suppose,” Harry says, feeling slighted though he knows Miss Granger only means well. “For my part I do not see the harm in an apprenticeship.”

Miss Granger hesitates, looking at Weasley, who stares fixedly at his plate. “If I was in your place, Mr Potter, I would only apply for an apprenticeship if the subject is something which you find fascinating and wish to study for the rest of your life.”

“Pardon my saying so,” Weasley says in an odd tone which Harry realizes is partly jealousy, “but an apprenticeship is quite beneath you. As  _ the Savior, _ you have an array of opportunities before you, and to ignore them would be doing an injustice to yourself and your talents.”

Harry rises to his feet angrily. “In case you have not noticed, Mr Weasley, I am not quite as talented as everyone seems to believe. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to class.”

Then he storms away, breathing heavily. He barrels past the doors of the Great Hall and nearly collides with someone very tall, who barely misses him by a sidestep. Harry looks up and sees Mr Malfoy, who can barely conceal his disdain. 

“Mr Potter,” he says stiffly, inclining his head. His eyes momentarily dart around, as if he is trapped. As Harry well knows, Mr Malfoy must not excuse himself now until after he has made the proper inquiries. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Harry says, intrigued despite himself. They stand at a distance, but Harry can almost see Malfoy’s mind working to come up with the quickest route out of the conversation. 

“How are you, Mr Potter?”

“Fine, thank you. How do you find the class?” Harry asks. Malfoy flushes as if he would rather not think about the class, or perhaps he is remembering his comment about his magic. 

“Well, I suppose.”

“I hope I do not offend by mentioning it in the light of day,” Harry says, unable not to try and push his buttons, if only a little, “but I found your metaphor of the bird quite insightful.”

To his surprise, a ghost of a smile hovers over Malfoy’s mouth. Harry never thought Malfoy one to appreciate a jest at his own expense. “You do not offend. Although I must admit, it is quite a personal topic to share with an entire class. As such, I was surprised by your brevity.”

This time Harry smiles. “Yes, I suppose I am not a very private figure. However, I agree with you. Magic is personal. In many ways, it is a reflection of ourselves.”

Malfoy stares at him for a moment, then looks away, his brief amusement shuttered away. “I must excuse myself, for I left something at my table, and must retrieve it now so as not to be late for the class.”

“Of course,” Harry says, and they part ways, his head spinning from the conversation. 

Back in the classroom, Mr Ollivander has returned to his place in front of his desk, leaning on his staff. Malfoy is the last person to enter the classroom, and when he sits down, Mr Ollivander begins. 

“To start our last hour together, you will notice a sheet of parchment in front of you turned to the blank side. The other side contains the writing of one of your fellow classmates, describing their magic. I have removed the names, though you may very well recognize who wrote it by what they said in class. Please do not look at it until the end of class. 

“For next class, I would like each of you to describe the kind of person who would possess this magic. Use your imagination, create a character with personality, with all their strengths and all their flaws. Bring as much nuance and sensibility to this character profile as you can. If you happen to remember whose writing you are reading, I would ask you to put your personal assessment of them aside for this exercise.

“However, for the rest of class today, we shall begin our discussion on character traits. The first trait we shall look at is bravery. Now, can anyone tell me why this quality is a  _ good  _ quality?”

Longbottom’s hand shoots in the air. “Bravery allows one who possesses it to stand up for what is right, even when it is terrifying to do so.”

“Quite right, Mr Longbottom,” Mr Ollivander says. “And can anyone tell me why this quality is a  _ bad  _ quality?”

A few Slytherins hide a laugh, catching on. 

Mr Ollivander smiles. “Oh yes, bravery for Gryffindor house. But do not celebrate prematurely, Slytherins. You shall be next.”

The laughter dies out, and Longbottom looks around triumphantly. 

Miss Davis raises her hand. “Bravery may give someone false confidence, and they will rush into danger without planning and weighing all available options.” She pauses, smirking. “It is self-sacrifice that to one might look noble, but to others simply foolish.”

Mr Ollivander only continues smiling. “Very well. Who can tell us why  _ cunning  _ is a good quality?”

After a long moment, Goyle raises his hand slowly. It seems not even the Slytherins themselves want to brag too much. “Cunning is good for finding success in life, and outsmarting your enemies.”

“And why is it bad?”

Harry cannot help but raise his hand. “Yes, cunning allows you to outsmart your enemies and find success, but at the cost of everyone else except yourself. It is the opposite of self-sacrifice, which to one might look intelligent, to others simply cowardly and immoral.”

He looks across the room at Miss Davis, who turns her head with her nose up indignantly. 

Next Mr Ollivander asks the same questions of intelligence and loyalty. Intelligence is deemed good in the advancement and betterment of the species, but bad in its obsessive, often haughty nature. Loyalty is considered good when who one is loyal to and why is in the right, but loyalty to a fault is considered blind faith with ignorance as the cause. 

By the end of class, no House was left standing which felt entirely proud of their valued traits. Still, Harry consoled himself with the fact that at least Slytherin’s cunning was the worst of the four and with the least convincing defense.

When Mr Ollivander dismissed them, Harry suddenly remembered his assignment, and picked up the paper. He reads the first line as he makes his way across the castle to Charms. 

_ Magic is like a bird caught in my grasp. _

He has been assigned Malfoy’s magic. 


End file.
